I Love You Til the End
by JustKeepWondering
Summary: Santana and Brittany have their lives changed when Santana is diagnosed with a genetic disease and suddenly has a hard time remembering things.  Can Brittany step up to the plate, or will they both fall apart?
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Santana is diagnosed with a serious genetic condition that changes her life and leads to Brittany needing to be the one to make some important decisions. Kind of sad, kind of angsty.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I've tried to be as realistic as possible in describing the condition, but if you guys have any suggestions, please please please let me know.

Brittany and Santana are both twenty-nine when Santana starts having symptoms. Brittany has just opened a dance studio, and Santana has worked her ass off to be the youngest junior partner in the history of Delham and Sons Law Firm. They're so busy between work and spending time together that Santana almost doesn't notice what's slowly starting to happen. It doesn't seem like anything serious at first- she just loses her balance every once in a while, and she writes it off as being too tired. But she finds herself becoming more and more tired, even when she sleeps in. Then Brittany notices that she grimaces sometimes, even when she doesn't mean to. Brittany thinks that it's because Santana spent so much time glaring at people in high school that her face just goes that way, but Santana has a bad feeling that it's something else. It's like she can't control her goddamn face, and it scares the hell out of her.

She goes to her dad first, who calls a friend who specializes in neurology. She gets tested over and over again, and nobody can tell her what's wrong. She's given her family history to three different neurologists before one finally breaks down and asks her.

"Is there any possible way that your father…isn't your father?" he asks bluntly, and Santana about tears his head off.

"Just because my family is Latino doesn't mean my mother is a whore, jackass. Fuck you. Come on, Britt, let's get out of here."

But Brittany looks at her like something just clicked for her. "You know, you don't look anything like your dad."

Santana's jaw drops. "No, Brittany, my mom would have told me. She would have." With that, she grabs Brittany's hand and drags her from the office. But that night in bed, her hand jerks involuntarily as she holds Brittany, and she realizes she has to try everything to find out what's wrong with her because she has someone that needs her. So she calls her mom at three in the morning and demands to know if there is any chance that her dad isn't her biological father. Her mother denies it vehemently until Santana tells her how fucking terrified she is and then she breaks down and starts crying.

Two days later, Santana and Brittany are sitting in the same doctor's office as before, and Santana is apologizing.

"Sorry I called you a jackass. Turns out my mother _was_ a whore. My bad," Santana says flippantly, as if the knowledge doesn't bother her.

Brittany sees through it. "I'm sorry, San," she whispers, taking her hand.

"Why are you sorry? You were right."

Brittany shrugs. "I'm never right."

Dr. Hess clears his throat. "I'd like to run a genetic test panel on you, Ms. Lopez. I think that you most likely have a genetic condition called Huntington's disease."

"Genetic? Like…uncurable genetic?" Santana stutters out. Brittany's eyes widen because uncurable is a word she understands.

"Look, there's no reason to get upset until we know for sure. Let's get started on the tests, and we'll go from there."

Two weeks later, Santana gets the bad news. She has Huntington's.

I'm working on the next chapter right now, so I should have it up pretty soon. I know this wasn't much of an intro, but I want you guys to kind of get to understand what Huntington's is as Santana goes through it. The next part will explain more about the condition and how it affects people, including Santana. Please review


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry this took so long to post, my laptop broke and I haven't been on a computer all week. Thanks for everyone who reviewed. It means the world to me to have people take the time to let me know what you thought.

Dr. Hess is quick to make an appointment for Santana when the diagnosis comes through. She pretends like it's a good sign, but she's not a moron. She knows that this is serious.

She goes into the appointment clutching Brittany's hand. When she lets go to shake Dr. Hess's hand, she notices the imprints her nails have made on Brittany's hand and kicks herself mentally.

"You'll want to sit down for this," Dr. Hess says gently. They sit down on chairs that put them just a little lower than he is, and Santana can't help but be reminded of their days in Sue Sylvester's office. It almost makes her smile. Almost.

"I'm afraid there really isn't a good way to ease into this, so let me just start by explaining what Huntington's is. Huntington's disease, or Huntington chorea, is a genetic disease. It affects the nervous system, particularly the nerves in the brain. They degenerate."

Santana leaned over to Brittany, who looked as if Dr. Hess had just spoken jibberish. "That means the brain starts to fall apart," she tells her, making it as simple as she can. For some reason, it makes her feel better. Like she can still take care of Brittany.

"The first thing that's affected by Huntington's is your motor control. That's why you've been unable to stop grimacing once in a while and why your hand seems to move on its own. Your balance will begin to be affected almost immediately. As time goes on, your movement will become increasingly jerky and almost dancelike."

"I have a dance studio!" Brittany says brightly. "Sometimes the dances are kind of jerky. Maybe you could teach," she offers. Santana cracks a smile.

"Not a good kind of dancing," Dr. Hess replied testily, not used to people interrupting him. "How would you feel if you couldn't control when you danced?"

Brittany's face falls.

"Don't talk to her like that. She doesn't understand, okay? She loves to dance," Santana warns him, just as testily.

"I'm sorry," Dr Hess said quickly. "I didn't mean to sound mean. What I meant to say, Brittany, is that Santana will be moving her arms even when she doesn't mean to. Have you ever had a muscle spasm after dancing for too long?" Brittany nodded slowly. "You know how you can't decide when to have one? That's how it'll be for Santana."

"Oh," Brittany says softly. "Not fun dancing. Bad dancing."

"That's right, B," Santana tells her.

"Another effect of Huntington's is your mood. You may experience times where you're extremely irritable, or depressed, or anxious. If it becomes necessary, we'll put you on anti-depressants." Santana wants to joke about how nobody will notice if she starts being irritable, but she feels a little choked up. What if she loses it and freaks out at Brittany over something? Will she be able to keep her job? She just got a promotion- will they make her give it up?

Unfortunately, Dr. Hess isn't done. "Usually the last thing that's affected is your memory. You'll start to forget things. Little things at first, then bigger things. It doesn't happen overnight, of course, and you're very lucky to have someone that can help take care of you." He gestures to Brittany, who is currently wearing two different colors of socks and still doesn't know how to tie her own shoes, and Santana can't help but laugh. They'll be screwed when Brittany is the one they rely on to remember things.

"Santana, these things aren't the same for everyone. You may have a long time before your memory goes, or it may be soon. We'll just have to wait and see. Unfortunately, we don't have a cure for this. We'll alleviate the symptoms as best as we can, and that's all we can do."

"Is it going to kill me?"

Dr. Hess cleared his throat. "Like I said, it's different for everyone…"

"Don't fuck around with me. Am I going to die from this?"

"Most likely, yes. My estimate would be that you have about eight years."

Santana sinks back into her chair, stunned. Brittany's eyes are wide and shiny with unshed tears. "Can't you give her more?"

"More what?"

"More years. Can't you give her more years? Give her some medicine or something. You're a doctor, right? You're supposed to be able to fix her. That's your _job._ Eight years isn't enough!" Brittany says, getting angry. "You have to fix her, you have to make her better."

Santana takes her hand carefully. "B, he can't. Some things can't be fixed."

"But eight years isn't enough, San. I can't lose you in eight years." She turns to Dr. Hess. "I _can't._" Her voice cracks and Santana wraps her arms around her, feeling her own tears start to stream down her face.

"Baby, how long have we known each other?"

"Since we were six," Brittany replies, sniffling.

"That's twenty-three years. Plus eight equals thirty-one. Don't you think we're pretty damn lucky to have thirty-one years together?"

"No. I want to have you forever," Brittany says stubbornly.

"I know. And I want to have you forever. " She links their pinkies. "Tell you what, B. Let's make a pact. We're going to make this the best eight years of all time. In fact, it'll be so awesome that it'll probably feel like a lot longer than that. Promise?"

Brittany thought it over. "Promise," she finally said.

"That's my girl." Despite trying to sound comforting, Santana is shaking like a leaf. She barely hears Dr. Hess trying to reassure her as they set up another appointment for a month later. Brittany ends up having to make it for her because Santana can't even begin to think of what her schedule is like.

Santana doesn't sleep that night. Brittany cries for most of it and finally falls into a troubled sleep, and Santana is left running her fingers through soft blond hair and wondering how the hell she had gone from thinking she had sixty years of life left to knowing she'd be lucky to have eight.

I hope this chapter turned out okay. Let me know what you guys think!


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for reviewing! You guys are amazing. This chapter isn't as sad as the last one, but it has it's moments. Stick with it, I promise things are going to get better.

Brittany wakes up the next morning and is shocked to find Santana's side of the bed empty. She rubs the sleep from her eyes and stumbles down the stairs to the kitchen, where she stops in her tracks.

Santana is typing furiously on her laptop. Her eyes are wide and bloodshot, and she's shaking.

"San?" Brittany ventures carefully. "What are you doing?"

Santana whirls around. "I'm making a bucket list. I've spent all night researching other people's lists because I don't have my own, and I've put it all into one big one." Brittany's eyes soften as Santana desperately tries to maintain her control. She looks down at the list.

"Scuba diving? San, you don't know how to swim. You hate the water," Brittany reminds her. "And I'm pretty sure that you aren't going to play in the NFL. You're way too little to play hockey."

"But I only have eight years, B, and I have to pack every single day full so I won't miss anything. I can't miss anything," Santana chokes out, not bothering to correct Brittany on what sport the NFL actually is. "I don't want to die knowing that my last few years were boring and average when they could have been awesome."

"They _will_ be awesome. But not if you do a whole bunch of things that you'll end up hating just because some moron on the internet says you should. Can't we make our own bucket list?"

Santana wipes her eyes. "Really? You want to?"

"Yeah, of course." Brittany gets out a new piece of paper. "You go first."

"Um…I want to go to the Louvre. In Paris."

Brittany stares at her. "You want to go all the way to England to use the bathroom?"

"No, B, it's an art museum."

"Named Lou?"

"_Louvre. _With a V."

"Oh. Um, maybe you should be the one writing," Brittany says sheepishly.

Santana laughs shakily and takes the paper. "Okay, now you do one."

Brittany claps. "Ooh, I've got it. I want to go to that pond down the street and feed the ducks."

"Seriously? We do that, like, twice a week." Brittany's face falls. "But it wouldn't hurt to put it down," Santana corrects quickly. "My turn. Learn how to cook. Your turn."

"Go to Disneyland!"

After a few hours, they had a pretty good sized list and Santana's hands weren't shaking anymore, but she was yawning.

"You should go to sleep, San. I have to run down to the studio, but I'll be back in a bit."

Santana nods and heads upstairs while Brittany pulls on her jacket and gets in the car. It doesn't take her long to get to the studio, but she's a nervous wreck by the time she gets there. She ducks into one of the classes and is promptly mobbed by the kids in there.

"Miss Brittany!" One of them shouts, jumping into her arms. "Hi! I thought you weren't gonna come today!"

Brittany squeezes her tightly. "Hi, Melissa! I actually came to talk to Miss Stephanie. Can you guys free dance for a few minutes?"

She pulls Stephanie into the hallway. "Thanks for taking my classes today, Steph."

"Sure. Are you okay, Britt?"

Brittany hesitates. "No…no, I'm not. I came to ask you a favor, and it's a really hard favor to ask because it means giving up something that means a lot to me, but I really need to do it. Could you…could you take all of my Saturday classes? Like…forever?"

"What?" Stephanie's blue eyes widen. "Why? What happened at the doctor's office? Is Santana okay?"

"No, she's got some sort of gen…generetic disease. She doesn't have that long and I have to be with her as much as I can. Please, Steph?"

"Of course." She wraps her arms around Brittany's waist. "I'm so sorry, Brittany. I'll be happy to take your classes."

Brittany thanks her and they work out an agreement on how Stephanie will be paid, and then Brittany stands in the doorway and watches the little girls she's come to love dancing. She doesn't want to give it up but she knows Santana won't leave her job until she has to, and Saturday's are the only days they'll have time to do the stuff on the bucket list. And Santana can pretend she's okay all she wants, but she isn't. And Brittany gets that she isn't okay and she understands _why_ she isn't okay, and she's going to do anything she can to make her just a tiny bit more okay.

She doesn't tell Santana about her classes that night. There's no need to make her feel guilty about it. Instead, she and Santana go to a nearby fairground.

"B, what are we doing here?"

"Number fifteen," Brittany tells her. She buys twenty tickets and hands them all to the man at the ferris wheel. "We want to ride this for a _very_ long time," she tells him, and he gives them a warm smile. They link pinkies as they sit down together.

"B?" Santana whispers as they get to the top. "I'm scared."

"Me too. But we'll take it one day at a time, okay? Me and you. Together."

Santana smiles. "Together," she agrees, and rests her head on Brittany's shoulder.

Hopefully this one was a little easier to read…A little less angsty, I guess. Let me know what you guys thought!


	4. Chapter 4

I'm fully aware that I'm lousy at updating- I'm way sorry this took so long! Hopefully you guys will stick with me, I'm usually not this lame. 

The next year seemed to fly by. Brittany and Santana had managed to complete ten things from the bucket list, including flying to New York to see Rachel Berry in her new play on Broadway. Santana had argued about that one, but Brittany had insisted. She could never say no to Brittany, and this was no exception. Santana was tired and grumpy on the plane back, and Brittany was covered in "I 3 NYC" garb and firmly convinced that Elphaba and Glinda were lesbians. She explained her theory at least twelve times during the flight, and Santana learned quickly that the best thing to do was nod, because suggesting otherwise made Brittany just try that much harder to convince her. Not that Santana didn't agree with her, but some of her logic didn't make any sort of sense.

Then there was what came to be known as the Kitchen Incident. Santana had worked late one night, and Brittany had decided it would be nice to make dinner for her. Santana came home to find the entire house in disarray. The entire kitchen was covered in flour and what appeared to be chocolate milk. Brittany had eggs in her hair and peanut butter all over her shirt. There were four pots of weird, soupy mixtures on the stove, all in different states of boiling over and spilling out onto the hot surface.

"So…um…Chinese or pizza?" Brittany asked tearfully as Santana stared at the normally spotless kitchen in shock. She had tried so hard to make a nice surprise for Santana, but she wasn't dumb enough to think that whatever had gone wrong with the dinner was going to taste good. To her amazement, Santana just laughed and pulled her into a hug, ignoring the fact that she was getting peanut butter all over her clothes. They ended up ordering Chinese and eating it in their bed, watching TV and laughing and talking. That was one thing that Huntington's had changed in Santana- she realized everything wouldn't be perfect, but that those imperfect things could be pretty damn fun.

Not all of the things on the Bucket List went well. Their attempt to skydive had resulted in both of them chickening out and staying on the plane, and Brittany had cried when they'd gone fishing and she realized that the fishes would die if they took them out of the water. Oddly enough, those were two of Santana's favorite days. It was a lot of fun to just spend time with Brittany again, the way they had before their careers had taken up all their time. As they sit in the boat, pinkies intertwined, Santana smiles. "I love you." 

Brittany isn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but she knows Santana better than anyone. As the year-mark approaches, Santana gets more and more anxious. She pretends like she doesn't realize it's been a whole year since her diagnosis, but Brittany can see the knowledge weighing on her.

So she decides to do something special. Not that the other things they'd done weren't special, but she needs to distract Santana from what she's feeling. She needs Santana to know she's still there, and that they're in this together. So she does a little bit of research on flights to Paris, gets confused, and then calls Quinn. Quinn books them a flight and a hotel and even prints off a list of popular tourist destinations.

So on the anniversary of the diagnosis, Santana is so busy falling in love with the way Brittany looks as they gaze down at the River Seine from the balcony of their hotel room that she doesn't think about her Huntington's or the fact that she's got seven years left. And Brittany just smiles at her and knows that she made the right decision in flying to Paris. Even if she did waste a couple hundred bucks accidentally buying non-refundable tickets to Paris, Idaho.

Thanks for reading, and please review!


	5. Chapter 5

Before long, Santana can no longer pretend that she's okay. She trembles almost all the time, and her arms jerk out at odd moments. The first time she accidentally punches Brittany, she cries for two days and refuses to let anyone near her, proclaiming herself to be dangerous. Brittany ignores her demands and slides into bed with her, soothing her girlfriend's fears with gentle kisses and whispered promises of her love. She covers the black eye with make-up and manages to make Santana laugh about it, which is no easy feat.

"It's cool. I'll wear an eye patch, or something. Like a pirate." Her eyes light up. "Ooh, maybe the hobo who lives in the cardboard box on the corner will lend me his."

Santana snorts at that. "You'll smell like him if you do that, B."

Brittany's eyes widen and she nods seriously. "Oh. I don't want to smell like him. He smells like fish sticks and waffles and St. Patrick's Day."

Santana smiles. "I'll get you your very own eye patch, okay?"

Brittany links their pinkies. "Okay."

* * *

The next time something goes wrong, Santana again blames herself. Brittany is walking down the street with her to her bus stop when Santana loses her balance and stumbles. Brittany, who's busy looking at a bird sitting on top of a stop sign, trips as Santana pitches forward, and they both land hard on the cement. Brittany yelps as she looks at her hands, which are scraped and bleeding. Santana's knees are in the same situation, only a little bit worse. And she's crying.

"It's okay, S, I think I have a band-aid somewhere…" Brittany says, digging through her purse.

"I don't need a band-aid."

"But you're crying, and whenever I cry when I get hurt, you give me a band-aid and it makes me feel better." Brittany looks so sincere that Santana can't stand it.

"I'm not crying because I'm hurt," Santana says, getting to her feet and wiping at her tears furiously. "I'm just…I'm sick of hurting you."

Brittany wrinkles her nose. "You didn't hurt me. The cement did. We fell, remember?"

"We fell because _I _couldn't keep my balance."

"Oh. It's okay, though. Remember in the first grade when I hit you with my yo-yo? Or in the second grade when I jumped off the roof so I could fly, and you tried to catch me?" Brittany lists off quickly, as if she's kept a mental record of each time she's inadvertently hurt Santana. "I've hurt you lots of times. But you don't get mad at me, so I'm not mad at you."

"Really?" Santana sniffles.

"Really."

* * *

And again, Brittany is the one that makes Santana feel better when they go to their monthly visit to Dr. Hess, who has bad news.

"Santana, your disease has progressed faster than I had expected. I know I told you eight years, but based on the progression of your symptoms, I would say it's closer to six."

Santana gasps and her jaw drops and while she's sitting there in a stupor, Brittany takes action. Brittany, who has never been in a fight in her entire life, stands up and kicks Dr. Hess squarely in the shin.

"You're a liar," Brittany says angrily, kicking him again. "You're a mean, stinky, grumpy old lie-teller!"

That does it. Santana cracks up, and Brittany keeps yelling at Dr. Hess and kicking him and trying to pull his hair, and then security comes and escorts them out.

"Badass," Santana cheers as she and Brittany make their way to their car. She's trying hard to pretend that the news she just got isn't affecting her, and instead chooses to focus on the fact that Brittany just kicked the shit out of her doctor. "You made him cry."

"He's mean," Brittany says matter of factly. "He's wrong, too. Six years isn't enough, because we've already used up two and that would only leave five."

Santana winces. "Four, B." Brittany's face falls further. "But, you know what? I'd rather have four more years with you than a lifetime with anyone else."

She means it, too. She loves the craziness of being with Brittany. She loves the sixhundred Post-It Notes that currently cover every inch of their kitchen because neither one of them can remember things all that well. She loves the fact that Brittany still can't tell right from left but has memorized every single bus route through their town so she can help Santana if she gets lost. She loves absolutely everything about Brittany. And even though four years will never be enough, she knows it'll be the best last four years anyone has ever lived.

* * *

Thanks for reading!


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